


Your Perfect Life

by ValentineRevenge



Category: Black Veil Brides
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRevenge/pseuds/ValentineRevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that even if you have a perfect life, it is human nature to want more. But is that always true?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Somewhere, a girl sat in her room, a lit cigarette in hand, and an open bottle of Jack Daniels next to her foot. It was her second or third of the night. She had lost count, not that she really cared, after about the first half of the first bottle.   
  
There was really no need for It, because she was already waster. If you took her blood right then, you'd get an alcohol sample, not a blood sample. In fact, she was so drunk, she had fallen out of her chair, and was on the floor, and she'd accidentally lit the filter end of her cigarettes several times. Wryly, she thought that she should switch to something filterless, so that she no longer had to worry about lighting the wrong end. Then, she remembered that she probably wasn't even going to live to see the morning, let alone a time when she needed more smokes.   
  
Scattered around her were a couple empty booze bottles, as well as some that were full. That amount of booze just might've been overkill for someone of that size. In a neat little group on the tiny end table next to her chair were several bottles and packets of sleeping pills. She could easily reach them from where she sat next to the chair. She'd been planning this night for almost a year now, and damned if she was going to let her drunkenness get in the way of her plan. The only thing was, she didn't know how she was going to get the tops off them In the state she was. But it didn't matter, she'd figure it out somehow. She wasn't that stupid.  
  
Her note was written neatly, and propped up next to the collection of pills. Hopefully, after she died, whoever she was found by would also find that note. But that was just a theory. At least there, It wouldn't be mistaken for garbage or anything. Tonight was the night that she would say fuck it all and head on to whatever the afterlife had to offer. It couldn't be any worse than the hell that she was living in... Right?  
  
With that thought running through her head, she reached up and grabbed the nearest bottle of pills. She nearly managed to knock the rest onto the floor in the process. When she managed to get her hands wrapped around it, she brought it down to her level, and started fumbling with the cap. Goddamned child proof shit.   
  
She managed to get the top off, and shook out some of the pills into her hand. Then, there was the noise of fabric ripping, and 2 men appeared in her room. One of them she recognized, but he hadn't spoken to her in several months, and had told her he wanted nothing to do with her. The other, she also recognized, but she'd never met him. Glancing between the man in front of her and one of the posters on her wall, she dropped the pills in shock. The one that she never met was Andy Six.   
  
"Holy shit, I think I'm fucking hallucinating." She slurred out.


	2. Chapter 2

"I think we showed up a little too late." Andy said. There was a tone of worry in his voice, before he asked, "Did you take any?"  
  
"Any what?" The girl asked, damn near oblivious.   
  
"Any of those pills!" Andy said, gesturing at her hand.  
  
"These?" she asked, waving her hand around, sending the little poisons flying.   
  
"Yes those!" Andy yelled exasperated.  
  
"'Course I didn' steal em!"  
  
"You must've taken something to be acting like this." Andy said, looking like he was about to go call the ambulance.   
  
"Andy..." The other man said.   
  
"What?" The singer snapped.  
  
"Look at all the bottles here."  
  
Andy did. Two were empty. A nearly empty bottle lay by the girl's foot. As they watched, she finished off the bottle, and reached for another. "You drank all that by yourself?" Andy asked incredulously.   
  
She nodded, her shaking hands barely able to hold the other bottle. "Hey! Don't drink that!" Andy yelled. "Keep your goddamned voice down." The other fallen angel hissed in annoyance.   
  
Ignoring him, the girl slurred, "The only way yer' stoppin' me 's by drinkin' it b'fore I do! But ya can't, cause yer not real!"  
  
"You take that half, I'll take this half." Andy said to his companion wit ha sigh, gesturing to the still full bottles. "You know my policy against alcohol." The other man groused. "Dammit Stitches, just do it!" Andy snapped, snatching the bottle away from the girl.   
  
"Fine, but you fucking owe me, Biersack."  
  
Andy didn't reply, as he was currently guzzling down the rum. His eyes were watering from the sting of the alcohol. Stitches picked up a bottle and cracked it open, before taking a whiff. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Taking a cautious sip, he nearly spat it out. "God, this is fucking nasty." He snarled. Andy, who was getting rather tipsy, glared at him.   
  
"Why're ya here anyway?" The girl asked, looking at them in amusement. They really were stupid, weren't they? They could've just poured it down the kitchen sink and nobody would've been the wiser. But instead, they were making themselves drunk.   
  
"Lost a bet." Stitches said.   
  
"Bet?"  
  
"Yeah. And because of that, we gotta save a hopeless case. Or try to." He said with a shrug.   
  
She couldn't help but smile. So she was a hopeless case, was she?  
  
By the time Andy was through with his first bottle, Stitches was barely halfway through his. "By the way, you should do something about those." The girl said, waving her hand absently at the pills. "Goddamn." Andy said, gathering up about half of the bottles, and stumbling out of the room. There was the sound of small things plapping into water. "Why's he tossin' 'em in th' toilet?" The drunk muttered, confused. "Good point!" Stitches said, before he grabbed up the rest of the pill bottles, chasing after Andy with them. "Hey! Give those back!" She called after them.   
  
The only answer she got was the sound of a toilet flushing.   
  
IF she wanted to end it, she'd have to use those pills that had scattered on the floor. Before she could reach for them, however, in came Andy and Stitches. They started back downing the alcohol.   
  
2 bottles each later, they were passed out, like the fucking lightweights they were. She was still awake, however, and staring at the 2 knocked out men on the floor in front of her. She noted something. Andy had the typical black feathers of a fallen angel. Stitches, however, had wings of dark green, bright red and yellow, and shades of blue. There were hardly any feathers of the usual black. He almost looked like a parrot.   
  
"Does that make him a fallen parrot?" She muttered to no one in particular. She crawled over to the parrot, before starting to pluck his feathers. She had quite a few of each color. For good measure, she plucked several large feathers from Andy.   
  
Neither woke up. Then, she hid the feathers below the rug. She had no idea why she did it. And she didn't have time to think it over, before she, too, passed out, Andy's scrawny stomach a pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

3 hours later, the pair of fallen angels woke up. A similar exclamation of "Holy Shit!" Was heard, before a quick glance revealed to them that the girl from last night was still asleep.  
  
"Why do we have to do this again?" Stitches groused.  
  
"You know why. We were tasked with fixing the life of a hopeless case. Now help me clean this place up." Andy said, grabbing up the empty bottles and taking them out of the room.  
  
"Pfft. I've said it a million times, humans are all the fucking same." Stitches said, following him.  
  
"How so?" Andy asked, as he tossed the bottles into the garbage can outside. They made a clinking noise as they hit the bottom. He flipped the lid of the bin back down, only to find his companion standing there, leaning against the dark green plastic side.  
  
"How so? I'll tell you how fucking so. You can give them everything they ever fucking asked for, and they'll still fucking ask for more!"  
  
"Ease up on the cursing will ya?" Andy spat, heading back into the house. The other man followed, saying, "Besides, even if they get a fucking perfect life, either it's not perfect enough, or it's boring, so they have to go around causing drama to make it interesting."  
  
"Not all humans are like that. We've had a few successful cases." Andy retorted, halfheartedly. He forgot to mention that there were hundreds of thousands of cases that had failed, because the people had done exactly what Stitches complained that they always did.  
  
"But she's like that!" Stitches insisted, even as he grabbed the garbage bag from the bathroom, full of the empty pill bottles.  
  
"What gives you the right to say that?" Andy asked, still refusing to give in, even though he could see that he was slowly but surely losing the argument.  
  
Stitches rolled his eyes, before saying, "Uh, because I've fucking been through most of this before with her."  
  
"Stitches..." The singer said with a sigh.  
  
"Six?"  
  
"We got assigned to this, so I'm expecting you to cooperate."  
  
"Fine."  
  
Back in the room, Andy took a look around, before asking, "Did she keep a diary?"  
  
"No fucking clue."  
  
Andy sighed. This guy was no help. Glancing at the shelf affixed to the wall fairly high up, so that someone of her height would need to be standing on tip toe or a chair at minimum to reach anything on it, he could only see books, a jewelery box, a small box that looked like it was made of seashells, and several plastic containers. None of those books looked like they could be a diary. Most were standing on end, but one was on it's side, with the seashell box on top of it. He picked it up, opening it. Inside were crumpled dollar bills and seashells, and a library card. Unsatisfied, Andy dumped the contents of the box onto the desk, poking through them with a finger.  
  
"The fuck are you looking for?"  
  
"Any thing that reminds her of the past year."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We've already fixed the memories of everyone else, sealed all the records we needed to, and cleared the rest of everything out of the house that we needed to get rid of. This is the final step."  
  
"But she's still going to have her memories, and when nobody else can collaborate them, she's going to think she's crazy." Stitches stated flatly. He was unimpressed.  
  
Whoever had worked out all of these 'perfect life' plans apparently wasn't too bright, because they refused to tamper with the person in question's memories, leaving them usually mostly in the same rut that they were in before it seemed. It was certainly vicious. NO wonder that so many of them went insane and ended up blowing out their brains, because they knew it to be real, even when everything around them told them that it wasn't.  
  
"Nope. Aha!" Andy said, holding up something. It was a small piece of broken glass that'd been hidden below the rest of the contents of the box.  
  
Stitches rolled his eyes. "You're taking this too far. 'Sides, it's pointless tossing out everything sharp if she's got so many scars."  
  
"We can say she recovered. A lot of people do." Andy said, scooping the things spilled onto the desk back into the box, before returning it to it's place upon the book. He couldn't help but notice the way that the cover lifted away from the book unless it was weighed down. Shrugging, he decided to ignore it, grabbing her jewelery box, and beginning to comb through the contents.  
  
"Like that's going to work."  
  
Andy sighed. He didn't believe that it would work himself, but it wasn't like he would say that. He had to at least pretend that be believed this would work, even though the overwhelming past history showed that most of the time, it never did. "Just help me, ok?" He said instead of what was going through his mind.  
  
"Whatever." Stitches muttered in annoyance.  
  
Soon enough, they came across quite a few things. A pen knife in a box with pens and markers, a straight razor below the keyboard of the computer, and loose pills in the nightstand. "Oxy's" Andy muttered. Those could do some real damage. Vaguely, he wondered why she didn't decide to include them in what they interrupted her at last night. Even though they'd found all this, however, they still hadn't found a diary. Andy tried the computer, just in case she had it saved there, only to find it locked.  
  
"Dammit." He muttered. Looks like they'd just have to search it whenever she unlocked it.  
  
"You planning on throwing that out too?"  
  
"Shut up." Andy snapped. He wasn't exactly in an amicable mood considering he had the mother of all hangovers.  
  
But the other male wouldn't take that as a response, for he said, "Planning on going through ever inch of this goddamn shithole?"  
  
"Shut the fuck up!" Andy roared.  
  
Stitches cringed.  
  
"Just do your motherfucking job!"  
  
The fallen angel slunk away, mumbling profanities below his breath, left right and center, wings clamped firmly against his sides.  
  
"Goddamn overgrown bird." Six hissed, continuing in his task of turning the room upside down.  
  
By the time it was nearly 8 AM, the duet were finished plucking apart the room. The amount of things that they'd found that Andy needed to get rid of was unbelievable.  
  
"Really is a hopeless case." Andy remarked, somewhat sadly.  
  
"Why the fuck do you think I don't speak to her anymore?"  
  
Andy ignored the comment, scooping up the still comatose girl and tossing her onto the bed. "You kind of have to now." he said, leaving the room. Stitches followed him. Both felt that they had forgotten something, but couldn't tell what it was, considering that they believed that they'd flipped every inch of the room, and gotten rid of all the 'evidence'.  
  
And they were right. But there was one place that they hadn't thought to look, because honestly, who would leave anything there? They hadn't looked under the rug.  
  
If they had, they'd have found the feathers that the girl had stashed there.


	4. Chapter 4

"We have to keep this up for a full fucking year?" Stitches practically yelled.  
  
"Maybe less, maybe more." Andy said, plopping his skinny ass on the couch in the living room.  
  
"Not good enough." The other man said, grabbing the singer by the throat, squeezing.  
  
Infuriated, he shoved the aggravating parrot off, gasping for air, before snapping, "We give a trial run of a year. She fucks up badly enough, everything goes back to normal. She starts getting better, it stays how we fixed it."  
  
"Kill me now." Stitches grumbled.  
  
Andy rolled his eyes in response. Who the hell came up with this bright idea, he had no idea. And, he actually wanted to work with someone who wasn't completely bitchy, and unwilling to cooperate.  
  
Inside the room, the girl was waking up. "Huh?" She mumbled, sitting up in bed. Last she remembered was sitting on the floor, surrounded by bottles of pulls and booze and a suicide note. That'd explain her headache.  
  
"Holy shit.... Am I dead?" She asked aloud to no one in particular. She had been waiting for last night for nearly a year, and she was dead serious about it. But as she looked around, she saw no evidence of the night before. Instead, however, she found a note taped to her mirror.  
  
Stumbling out of bed, she yanked it off the shiny glass surface. It took her several minutes in her severely hung over state to decipher the squiggly writing.  
  
"They fixed everything in your life, except you. It's up to you to fix yourself. They've done this a thousand times before, and every time, the person never gets better, and always asked for more and more. They believe you're going to be the same. You probably will, but they're giving you a chance anyways. Fuck up too much and it's going to go back the way it was.  
  
P.S. I'm expecting you to be that one in a million case where the person gets better and doesn't keep demanding more. I made a bet with these fucking overgrown birds, and you better make sure that I win it." It read.  
  
There was no signature to it. The girl shuddered. It was certainly fucking cryptic.  
  
Mumbling something to herself, she dropped the note and grabbed a towel before stumbling into the bathroom. A hot shower should wake her up. As she stood under the scalding water, something came to the forefront of her groggy mind that worried her. What if this was a prank to make her get her hopes up? What if she was actually dead and was now in purgatory? But the thing that bugged her the most was that she had never seen the handwriting before. Who had been in her room, and what had they done?  
  
After her shower, she headed back to her room. Before she shut the door, she smelled something. Breakfast. Toast, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and coffee. Who the hell actually cooked breakfast in the house within the last 4 years? No one besides her. So who the hell was cooking it now?  
  
Seeing her leave the bathroom, Andy turned to Stitches, and said, "Showtime."


End file.
